


once more, with feeling

by highfalutin baby birb (fevered_dreams)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confusion, Identity Issues, M/M, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-10-21 08:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17639735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fevered_dreams/pseuds/highfalutin%20baby%20birb
Summary: There's something wrong. Jason's sure of it. He knows these people, but he doesn’t know this place.Most of all, he knows Tim. Despite it all, he knows Tim.Baby bird.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They keep meeting, over and over again, and they wonder when it’ll finally mean something.

Blue.

Jason sees the blues first. Baby and bright, they fix him from across the room and seem to glean everything upon a glance — effortlessly.

The baby blue man smiles with a crease. Jason can’t remember if he smiles back, but he at least returns the gaze.

Because the man looks like he knows a juicy little secret that Jason doesn’t, swirling sweet across his tongue like the finest sugared cherry. His dimple says so, deep-set as he laughs.

And usually, Jason loathes to be looked at like that. Except, the blues are just too pretty, and those lips pucker up just the way Jason likes. Of course, that means he just can’t look away like he should.

He’s pretty. Whoever this man is, all lean and long-necked, he is undoubtedly and irrevocably pretty. And he knows it.

His eyelashes flutter, so long they brush against nice and high cheekbones, and his lips pucker once more, plump around the rim of his flute glass. He holds champagne that fizzes up delightfully coy in his grasp. Jason knows because his own glass vibrates from the bubbles, held careful to avoid snapping the stem and making a spectacle of himself.

Jason has always had clumsy fingers. Baby blue, on other other hand - his hands are slim and mesmerizing by virtue.

This is not fair. Beautiful boys with rosy, probably rouged lips never play by the rules. They can’t. They can’t help but break the ‘don’t be so damn pretty’ rule. That’s just the way these things are.

Baby blue speaks. Jason follows the movement of his mouth like scripture. Jason can’t hear what he says, but he figures that makes sense; Baby blue isn’t speaking to him, after all. His attention directs elsewhere, champagne bubbles in a flurry, and Jason must go ahead and gulp away at his own drink for a bit of a reprieve.

Except, he looks at Jason. Mid-conversation with some greasy ball of a man, Baby blue casts his gaze back over to Jason, all secretive and knowing, and Jason can’t even go through the motions of diverting his own eyes.

Baby blue’s lips twitch upwards even further. The dimple deepens, and he continues to speak to someone beside him, even as he meets Jason’s gaze.

His lips — Jason watches his lips, rapt. He can’t hear anything they say, and he has no idea what Baby blue sounds like.

But he hears it anyway.

A sob. An ugly sob, at that. The hands feel softer than they have any right to, warm and comforting. It makes him nervous.

 

_“Jason. We’re not gonna make it.”_

 

His mouth tastes tinny, and he breathes in something thick and wet. He downs the rest of his drink, quickly cops another one from a passing server, and turns his attention back to Baby blue.

He’s still smiling, but the dimple has faded some. He gives Jason one last stretched-out look, thin and honeyed like taffy, before turning away, attention now on some older man with gray-streaked hair and a pinprick of a smile.

Fuck, he’s pretty.

Jason wants to talk to him. He wants to touch Baby blue, to feel his heat beneath his fingertips. Cloying. Consummate.

Oh-so coy.

He wants to hear Baby blue speak out loud, to him.

He wants, but he doesn’t go. Not yet. Neither of them approach the other. They stay rooted where they are, players of the ballroom games. Older men flock the baby blues, unsurprisingly, and he takes them all in stride.

A hand rests on his hip. Then, on his lower back. These men will not leave Baby blue alone. And, somehow, Baby blue’s smile barely falters.

On the other hand, people, for the most part, leave Jason alone besides the particularly daring women. They are very lovely, with their soft smells and sharp eyes. Not to mention, those boobs of theirs, pushed up with all the money the elite can buy, draw one’s attention with ease. He admires them for a moment because he’s just a man, but the wave of their eyelashes simply cannot compare to Baby blue’s.

Jason looks back. Baby blue continues to entertain all the older man who refuse to leave him alone. They flaunt their golden signets in front of him, watchful of his expression. Baby blue gives them little in return.

Their jewelry easily verges on gaudy. And yet, they look so proud of themselves. Jason can’t stand the display, and he wonders how Baby blue stands to tolerate it all.

Then, someone bumps into him, and the moment shifts with the precarious slosh of Jason’s drink.

“Sorry about that. It’s hard to squeeze through around the crowds here sometimes, especially when you’re so popular with the ladies. That red-headed one was pretty hot, don’t you think? Or maybe that cute little black-haired one is more your type?”

Baby blue has black hair. He has black hair and blue eyes, skin a touch pale, but all the better to highlight the pinks of his lips. Furthermore, Baby blue is definitely Jason’s type, but he doesn’t think Roy’s referring to him right now.

Jason turns slowly and finds a mop of orange in front of him. Roy, too, is handsome in his own right. At the very least, he’s not painful to look at, but, God, why does Jason miss Baby blue so much?

“They were ok, just not my type,” Jason says easily.

Roy scoffs. “Of course they weren’t,” he says, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he settles in next to Jason without another word, and they paint an odd picture together.

Compared to the uppity guests around them, covered in gleaming, gold-encrusted jewels, they stand out like the dead. Even while trussed up, Roy hardly stands to impress, and the fine clothing Jason wears make his skin itch.

But they want him here. The higher-ups want to go flaunt him to all of their half-baked investors. So, here he is.

‘Look. Look at this man. He’s mostly integrated into society now, and it’s all thanks to us and all the meager change we throw at our esteemed institutions dressed up in jade. Aren’t you impressed? It’s fine. We understand. We are awfully impressive, after all.’

He swallows even more champagne. It’s the good stuff. He can afford the good stuff now, if he were so inclined, but he doesn’t see the point in splurging on booze when the cheap stuff does just as well.

 

_“You gotta stop drinking that stuff. It tastes like battery acid. We’ve got bottles of Johnnie Walker sitting around the manor, you know. You don’t need to go around spending money on cheap, unfiltered alcohol.”_

_“Sorry, not all of us have spent our lives illegally drinking expensive whiskey from the family China cabinet. I don’t have the same fancy tastes as you.”_

_“Would you like to have a drink with me, then? I’ll even order for you._

_“Does that mean you’re paying too?”_

_“Of course.”_

 

He hates the good stuff.

And Baby blue is gone. Presumably, he’s been dragged away by an overzealous guest, eager to impress. Jason can understand that.

Or, maybe he’s gone of to have a little rendezvous with a secret lover of his. Amongst the dying rich stand a few, deeply notable beautiful faces, and Jason wouldn’t be surprised if one — or several — of them stand waiting and hopeful for some time alone with Baby blue.

He seethes at the thought. Baby blue has always been too good for them.

“Hey, you alright? You look out of it.”

Roy again. Jason smooths his face into practiced nonchalance before responding. “I’m fine. Not used to all of this, I guess. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

“I suppose even tough guys like you get overwhelmed sometimes,” Roy teases.

“Who wouldn’t, in a room full of politicians and _philanthropists_ , whatever the fuck that means?”

An older woman with a stunning set of pearl earrings turns to glare at him. Jason barely resists the urge to glare back, while Roy chuckles away to himself at the sight.

“Be careful. It’s those same philanthropists who got us here in the first place,” Roy says. “They’re probably paying for all this fancy food, too. I didn’t even know butter taste this good.”

“They better be paying for it all, or else what’s the point in eating any of it?”

And with that, Jason deigns to spend the rest of his night there gorging himself on ridiculously overpriced food. It’s good, he’ll admit, but not nearly good enough. He’s had better, something made from the loving hand of someone who actually cares.

Not his own, however, and certainly not his parents’, but someone nonetheless. He’s sure of it.

He sips more champagne and wishes for something stronger because the room spins around him at a vicious lilt, but not from a pleasant drunken buzz.

He’s gonna he sick.

“You look like you could use some company. Your eyes are practically rolling out of their sockets from how glazed over they’ve become.”

Slow. Jason goes slow because someone other than Roy and those lovely girls speaks to him now, and, as much as he can’t stand events like this, he still likes to maintain some kind of modicum of grace.

Though he finds it difficult to maintain when he finally finishes turning.

Apparently, Baby blue’s voice sounds deeper than Jason imagined. He also looks even better up close with his smooth skin and sparkling eyes, and Jason flounders.

“Uh — thanks, but I’m fine,” Jason stutters out awkwardly, even though none of those words are the ones he wants right now.

Baby blue’s expression falters for the slightest second, barely noticeable past the bustle around them. Jason still notices, however, even after he fits his beautiful, good host face back on.

“Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll leave you to it, then,” Baby blue says. He turns heel without a single hitch, but Jason doesn’t actually want him to go.

“Wait, no, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean to sound like I didn’t want your company. I just didn’t want you to think that I was upset or anything,” Jason quickly amends.

Baby blue stills with a twist in one ankle, and the lift of his other foot. The chandelier lighting hits his cheekbones nicely like that, and Jason can’t help but admire it.

He looks older up close. Or, perhaps he just looks his age. Either way, Jason thinks he looks good. A few of his inky black hair frame his cheekbones just right, and Jason cannot stop from running his gaze over the familiar lines they cast.

Baby blue settles back on both feet. “I see. I’m glad, then, that don’t completely hate this gala. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were.”

“I’m not so much of a commoner that I would insult an event like this while I’m still here,” Jason says.

Baby blue smiles, dimples and all. “That’s more tact than many others here have ever had.”

“Well, when you’re rich, you can do just about anything and people will hardly bat an eye, I guess.”

Baby blue hums in response. Then, his glass lifts, up to pink, plump lips. Slender fingers hold fast. Jason watches as he drinks, taken by the bob of his throat.

Baby blue’s throat spans lengths. Jason thinks he could run that far, if given the chance.

“Such are the lifestyles of the rich and famous, huh?” Baby blue muses, and Jason can practically feel the bubbles bursting off his tongue. “Too bad I never figured out how to do that.”

“Oh, please. Someone like you doesn’t need something like money to get away with things,” Jason says with a snort.

Baby blue tilts his head. Hair sways, and Jason falters. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, someone as pretty as you probably gets away with a lot of things, no problem.”

Jason doesn’t know what he expects in response. Several options exist, and he considers them all possible. Regardless, he doesn’t exactly expect to hear Baby blue laughing hard enough for those horny rich men to look over at Jason with jealous intent.

“Aren’t you the smooth talker?” Baby blue asks, all tooth. “What’s your name again?”

“Jason.”

“Jason.” Baby blue rolls his name over his tongue. It sounds good with his voice. “Nice to meet you, Jason. My name’s Tim.”

Tim.

 

_Baby bird._

_The Replacement._

 

Jason blinks, and he’s back in the ballroom, reeling.

And Tim stands before him. He can’t embarrass himself now.

“Well, Tim, what brings you over here? Did I really look that pathetic, standing by the snack table all by myself?” Jason asks.

“I got a bit peckish, having to stand around and entertain all of my parents’ old friends. I can only stand them asking me about my future plans for so long before I pass out from boredom. Food helps, though,” Tim explains before popping a ridiculously ornate hors d'oeuvre into his mouth.

“Yeah, of course it’s exhausting to talk to old leches who want to fuck their old friends’ son,” Jason thinks, but he manages to avoid saying so aloud at the last second.

Instead, he forges ahead with a far less offensive, “And here I was, thinking that maybe you just wanted to talk to little old me.”

“I didn’t say that that wasn’t a reason.”

“Yeah?”

“I thought you’d be more interesting company than those old pals, at least. You look like you’d be, you know.”

Now it’s Jason’s turn to ask, “And what do you mean by that?”

“You just have that look in your eyes. You know, the kind that makes you look like you actually care about something. I don’t see a look like that very often.”

Jason doesn’t know how to respond to that, especially not when Tim’s eyes have that look in them — like he knows something Jason should.

He’s smart, Jason thinks. Too damn smart for his own good, probably, but that’s exactly what makes him so nice to look at.

“I can’t say that I get what you’re trying to say, but I’ll take it. It sounds like a compliment, anyway,” Jason finally says.

“Because it is,” Tim says.

They talk for a bit longer after that. Tim asks Jason why he’s here when he’s clearly a nobody, in essence, and Jason responds with an abbreviated run-down of his past.

‘My parents. They were killed in a car accident by a drunk driver, apparently. He got out of it with a few scratches, of course, and I was left without anyone to take care of me. Then, the illustrious City of Gotham decided to take me and a few other sad kids to test their government-funded boarding school for misfits idea. And, somehow, I turned out pretty ok. So, they like to parade me around sometimes. It must be nice of them, thinking they’ve actually accomplished something.’

Well, he keeps it as brief as he can.

But Tim listens with rapt attention nonetheless, lips pursed lightly as he takes it in. Jason just about preens from it.

Dangerous. This feels dangerous.

“Sounds rough,” Tim says when Jason’s finished, eyebrows cast down with condolences. “I know exactly how annoying it can be to both live amongst a group of horny, teenage boys and be surrounded by the bourgeois during charity galas like this.”

“You say that as if you haven’t been doing this your whole life, as a member of the Gotham elite.”

“I haven’t. I’ve only started really going to these a few years ago. I couldn’t avoid them anymore after I turned eighteen. I’m the only Drake left to make these appearances,” Tim admits.

It seems they are two peas of an unfortunate, tired pod.

“Hey, look on the bright side. You got to meet me, didn’t you?” Jason asks.

Tim’s next smile almost kills him. “Aren’t you bold?”

“It’s why I’m one of the better ones.”

“Yeah? Are you a good dancer, too?” Tim asks.

“Definitely not.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to dance with me, then?”

The music picks up. A small, live orchestra sits in the corner, so innocuous. They blend into the background with their muted dress, but, somehow, Jason feels like they’re plotting against him with each lift of their bows.

Or, he’s just imagining things again.

And Jason’s mouth is traitorous. “How could I refuse something like that?”

The music dips. Tim’s head bows, too. Jason follows, even though he’s not even sure if he should. From the corner of his eye, Jason spots Roy’s smirking at him. Typical.

But he finds that he doesn’t mind so much once Tim fits himself within Jason’s loose grip.

Regardless, Jason can’t dance.

They taught him a few general steps, way back when they first insisted he come to these things so he wouldn’t embarrass them, but he never really got them down just right. And, like some exasperated old man who did far too much for far too little, they could only sigh at him in the end. But, he could be worse. Probably.

He steps to the left, but Tim sways to the right. The result is an awkward still of their movements, but Tim doesn’t look put off by it in the slightest.

Meanwhile, words elude them. They say nothing, even as they continue to stumble here and there, a la Jason’s bumbling feet — because he had never been good at subtlety and grace, to be honest, but sometimes that’s saved his life.

Thankfully, Tim meets each of his missteps with ease. He finds his way in line with Jason, and their dance almost resembles something like on purpose.

He’s good. Tim is good.

And Jason, inexplicably, feels both impressed and jealous for it. Most of all, however, he’s stricken with want.

“Song’s over,” Tim then says, still held close by Jason’s hand on the small of his tiny, toned waist. “Our dance has ended.”

Jason nods, but he doesn’t draw away, not yet. He doesn’t particularly want to, if he’s being honest with himself. Tim, also, stays.

Murmurs begin to erupt around them. Older men wonder why Tim has decided to extend his attention so thoroughly into Jason, while older women gossip about who exactly Jason is, and do you think he’s only interested in men, or could he possibly swing both ways?

Roy, that asshole, joins in. Jason faintly hears him say that Jason has never been in the habit of turning down someone who intrigues him, regardless of gender. It’s the truth truth, but that doesn’t annoy Jason any less.

“Hey, would you like to get away from here for a bit? I have something I’d like to show you,” Tim says. He remains astonishingly unbothered by the whispering around them, and Jason must admit it. He’s definitely intrigued.

“I’m up for anything that gets me out of here and away from all these people,” Jason says. “I’m starting to feel like I’m becoming as snobby as the rest of them, but I don’t even have their kind of money, and everyone knows that’s the best part.”

Tim grins, and his eyes crinkle with promise. “I’ll take us somewhere where money doesn’t matter. Promise.”

He doesn’t lie.

Tim takes him to some secluded corridor, hidden away from the booze and fervor of the ballroom, before dropping right to his knees.

And he looks so pretty like that. He looks up. Jason looks back. He sees pretty, rosy lips all puckered up in heady anticipation. Then, he unzips Jason’s pants with little fanfare, slim fingers and hot mouth at the ready, and that’s the end of that.

“Fuck, I never would’ve guessed you’d be the type,” Jason breathes. He laces his fingers into Tim’s hair like a man possessed. It feels soft.

And Tim lets him. “What? You thought I wouldn’t suck your dick in the middle of a charity gala?” Tim asks. His breath flutters against Jason’s cock, already embarrassingly hard, and it only makes everything just that much worse.

“I really didn’t, but I can’t say that I’m not pleasantly surprised,” Jason responds, and then Tim’s lips are on the head of Jason’s dick.

Jason pulls him closer with a vicious flick of his wrist. Instead of whining at the rough treatment, Tim moans, and the vibrations send firestarters shooting up Jason’s spine.

“I do love a good surprise,” Tim whispers.

Jason doesn’t. He only likes being the one doing the surprising. Though, this isn’t bad at all.

Tim swallows him down, going slowly. Oh, does he go slow. Jason swears it takes hours for Tim to finally get half of Jason’s dick in his mouth, cheeks bulging and eyes big as he stares up at Jason expectantly, but those hours are absolute bliss.

Tim pauses and hollows his cheeks, and Jason, like a teenage boy in the throes of puberty, turned on by risqué images of beautiful men and women alike, bucks his hips impatiently.

Still, Tim makes no indication that he’s displeased with Jason’s antics. Instead, he just takes Jason in further, all the way to the hilt this time in a matter of seconds.

And Jason quickly loses control.

He can do little more besides struggling to keep his wanton, jerky thrusts somewhat contained because tearing up Tim’s throat with his dick would be a terrible shame, even if part of him would revel in it. As always, Tim takes it all in stride. He grips at Jason’s thighs loosely with one hand while the other fondles at Jason’s balls. All the while, he allows Jason the honor of dictating their pace and intensity with no qualms.

With all that power, Jason goes too fast and too hard. This won’t last long. That is certainly the biggest shame of all.

“Baby, you’re way to good at this. I’m not gonna last much longer,” Jason murmurs in-between his quickened breaths. He tugs tighter at Tim’s hair, almost painfully so. It’s a test. He wants to see what Tim will do.

Tim scratches welts down Jason’s outer thigh in response. His eyes look even prettier as he does so, hooded by long eyelashes as they look up at Jason, and this is all so unfair.

Jason tips his head back and groans. That’s it. He concedes. Tim’s the winner now.

He comes with a groan and one more sharp snap of his hips forward. The ceiling tilts, and his leg burns. Tim still kneels before him, drinking every last bit of cum Jason has, and Jason grows heady at the sight of Tim sitting there all pretty, taking everything Jason gives him.

His mind shakes. He hadn’t come like that in awhile now. The come down has him a bit confused.

In the meantime, Tim finally pulls away with a lazy, wily drag of his tongue. Fingertips linger on the welts. They rove admiringly, leaving behind a slight sting.

Jason, too, can’t wait to admire them.

“Let me suck you off, too,” Jason says. “Or let me eat you out. Whichever you prefer.”

He wants to do both. Then, he wants to fuck Tim straight into his mattress until his voice grows raw from moaning so much because Baby bird deserves it.

Or, Baby blue does.

But, Tim shakes his head. “I’m afraid we don’t have time for that. They’ll start to wonder where we went.”

“Let them wonder. They love to gossip, after all.”

Tim’s smile is rueful. “No can do. One of us has to keep up appearances.”

Jason, admittedly, struggles with that.

“But you can always make it up to me some other time, if you’d like,” Tim continues.

Jason wants that more than anything. So, he nods. Tim’s eyes crinkle with delight. They walk back into the main room again, and the whispers start up almost immediately. Without a single hitch, Tim leaves Jason behind to return to the sides of the filthy rich.

Leaving Jason bereft.

Roy finds him before he can get too lonely.

“You having a good time yet?” Roy asks with a smirk.

Jason doesn’t even turn to look at him. “It’s not too bad.”

Roy laughs at him, and life goes on.

Tim still looks as pretty as ever.

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, Jason sleeps alone and lonely. In his sleeps, he dreams of flying. Then, he falls.

Someone stands over him. He sees green.

Tim’s eyes are not green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kinda an experimental story because i want to try to challenge myself by writing something that's a bit disjointed. i hope it goes well, and please let me know what you think!
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)


	2. Chapter 2

Baby bird — no, Tim, with those baby blue eyes of his — laughs. He looks younger when he laughs. The stretch of his mouth helps hide the premature wrinkles he’s accumulated over the years because, apparently, not even fancy injections and skin creams can stave off the physical perils of stress and near-death’s for long.

Tim doesn’t laugh again. In its place, he offers a smile. That, too, Jason enjoys.

The breeze hits them. They’re sat somewhere up high. Here, Jason hardly misses the city lights beneath them because the stars gleam brightly. The moon practically blinds him.

And up here, he sees no other lights here. No plane flashes, and no beacon of desperation glows, begging for help from someone who simply cannot refuse to give it. Jason looks, and all he sees is Tim standing above him.

Now, Tim’s eyes glow blue instead of that horrible, piercing green. Jason knows that for a fact, even if he can’t actually see them past the mask fixed tightly across his eyes. Why he knows is a mystery fraught with complacency.

But sinks into it — the complacency.

“It’s a calm night, isn’t it?” Tim asks. His voice rides fast on the wind. Jason struggles to keep up.

“Yeah,” Jason finally stutters when he catches his breath long enough. Bones creak from the effort. “We don’t get nights like these nearly often enough, huh?”

Tim’s hair ruffles as he nods. He still stands while Jason sits nearby, legs dangling precariously over the edge of the building, and the view from here is, admittedly, fascinating.

As a child, Jason used to be terrified of heights. He never trusted himself around ledges like this, and he especially never trusted fate to keep him safe. He swears he should still be afraid of heights. Instead, he finds a sense of calm in his own weightlessness.

He looks down. The view seems to stretch across eons, and the people below them barely exist. Black coats on black sidewalks don’t stand out very far, after all, but Jason can just barely see them move within the barren lowlights of the city.

Odd. They move in ways Jason can only describe as odd. They stutter for a few steps before leaping forward another eight. Jason has never seen people move that way before; he only knows them to either walk or soar. This half-sculpted, inhuman tilt they move with screams everything save for right.

Except, Jason doesn’t have the time to think about that for long before Tim draws Jason’s attention back in.

“So?” Tim asks, head tilted. The angle makes his neck look especially nice, and Jason wants to leave nasty, dark marks all over it. Tim just does that to him. He always has, even if Jason doesn’t know Tim. Even though he does because he’s seen that incorrigible look Tim carries in his baby blues, even as he lays bloody and broken beneath Jason’s foot.

 

  
_Be my Robin._

 

  
The voice shakes Jason’s mind so hard the sight cracks to pieces.

“Weren’t you the one who asked me to come meet you up here?” Tim continues, blissfully unaware of the heat behind Jason’s eyes. He looks good ignorant, but Jason thinks he looks even better when he’s got it all figured out. Knowing Tim, he will soon enough. He’s always been smart, after all. Jason really, really fucking likes him for that.

And Tim’s not a liar. Not like the rest of them, so Jason must’ve been the one to call him up here like a lovesick fool. He can’t recall why, but he appreciates Tim’s company nonetheless.

He opens his mouth. Tim smiles. The crinkle in the corner makes him look a bit old.

“Just wanted to see how you were doing,” is the best Jason can come up with.

Tim hums, unconvinced, but he doesn’t push the matter. “Well, I’m doing same as always, as you can see.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tim whispers on the breeze.

“Nothing new with you, then?”

Tim wrinkles his nose. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve never been this interested in me before.”

“Haven’t I?”

“Not like this. You usually don’t bother yourself with all the boring details.”

“Well, it’s never too late to start, right?”

If Jason could see past Tim’s mask, Jason would see amused doubt in his eyes. He can’t, however, so Tim settles for a frown and pointed sigh before replying.

“If that’s what you want.”

Jason wants to touch him. He wants to bury his nose in Tim’s throat to snuffle at him like an abandoned pup. He wants to turn complacency into normalcy — familiarity.

He wants to get away from this damn ledge because hovering so high off the ground doesn’t feel so nice anymore.

 

 

_A man falls. He reaches his hand out. Slowly, as if he’s been dipped in honey and slathered in quickly-cooling was, Jason reaches back. He doesn’t quite know why. But he knows he should. It’s the right thing to do, after all._

_And he tries so hard to be good. He wants the big man in the black suit to be proud of him._

_He tries really hard._

_“I didn’t do it,” Jason says. It’s the truth. He would never dream of lying to the big, scary man. Not about things like this._

_He doesn’t believe Jason. He has his mask on, but Jason knows by the clench of his teeth, and the tight purse of his lips that he doesn’t believe Jason._

_Jason wants to hate him for it._

_But, he can’t. Jason actually really adores him._

_“I didn’t do it,” Jason says, but no one believes him, and the man falls anyway._

 

 

“Jason.”

That is not the scary, mean, and wonderful man’s voice. That voice belongs to Tim who looks down at him with a banal smile. The mask is gone. Why or where, Jason has no clue. He only knows that he enjoys looking at the blue.

And yet, Tim isn’t smiling anymore.

“Jason,” he repeats, and his face blurs. “Jason, you gotta wake up.”

Jason has no idea what Tim means by that because he feels terribly awake as he falls.

He never was a good flier, he thinks to himself as the lights flash by. Compared to the rest of them, he fell hard long before he could really figure it out.

It doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it never did.

So, he closes his eyes and sees green.

 

* * *

 

Jason opens his eyes to sunshine and a soft bed. There is no green in sight. He runs his hands over his sheets, tentative. The give is soft. This gray feels nothing like concrete, and his feet find the ground easily.

So, he gets up and blinks green free-falls and beautiful boys out of his eyes because he must resume his normal complacency.

Except, the day turns into something wonderfully strange.

Jason had been planning on contacting and meeting up with Tim soon enough. He just had to work himself up to it. Apparently, five days was not long enough for that.

As a result, he has not yet worked himself up to running into Tim that night at the bar.

Tim looks even better tonight, outside of his gala suit and smile. The lights here float over them dim, but that only makes Tim’s baby blues shine even brighter.

And Jason is weak.

(So, so weak.)

His weak legs take him each step closer despite everything tell him to turn away, and, then, there’s Tim.

Tim doesn’t even notice Jason at first; he’s too busy laughing with some young hunk for that.

He laughs with teeth. Jason almost loses his nerve at the sight of them. They flash blindingly white, and Jason falters in the crack.

Then, he has no choice but to stay. Tim notices him, implores him to stay with a slow blink of long lashes, and Jason cannot deny him such a sweet want.

“Oh? Fancy meeting you here.”

Jason shakes away the white. Tim’s inky black hair and lovely blue eyes replace it, and Jason’s already enamored all over again.

He loathes the fact that Tim does this to him — that Tim has so much power over him with nothing more than a smile and flutter of his long lashes. He hates that, but not really. Tim’s too lovely to hate.

He feels like he’s faced this exact dilemma before. Odd.

But that’s fine. It’s whatever. He can think about it more later — or never. Right now, Tim holds Jason’s full attention in those long, slim fingers that felt so good running marks down Jason’s thighs back at that gala.

Those welts yet remain. Jason fears he’s become obsessed with them. Each night since their conception, he’s run reverent fingers over them, as if they’re to be worshiped. He’s stared at them in the mirror for far too long while lapping at the aftertaste, searching for more.

He’s missed Tim. For far too long. He aches with it. He wonders what’s wrong with him.

So, he says, “I guess it really is a small world, after all,” and drinks up Tim’s secret-eating smile.

“It’s not a bad thing, though,” Tim says. “I was starting to get impatient while waiting for you to call me. Or, were you never actually planning on seeing me again? You can tell me the truth. I won’t keep you here, if you don’t want to be here.”

“I do. I I was just a bit busy these past few days,” Jason lies.

Tim’s eyes sharpen around the corners. “Well, at least you’re here now. Care to have a drink with me?”

Jason slides his gaze over to the man hovering nearby. Doing so hurts. Jason wants to keep his eyes on Tim.

(All the time.)

But he looks away regardless.

“You sure? I don’t want to interrupt anything,” Jason says. It’s another lie.

Tim grins like he knows it. He probably does.

“It’s fine. I can always hang out with Kon again some other day. Right, Kon?”

Young Hunk — Kon, apparently — nods as he eyes Jason strangely. Then, he’s off, and Jason doesn’t miss him in the slightest because now he can saddle up beside Tim with no distractions.

“I didn’t expect to run into you in a place like this,” Jason says, still devoid of a drink because the bartenders have their hands full with other customers. It’s a shame, though. He’d appreciate the liquid courage right now.

But he’ll make do.

“What? You think I wouldn’t be the type to go bar hopping?” Tim asks.

“Not in a place like this, at least.”

“Even those of the upper echelon like to have fun in seedy bars every once in awhile. The paps like it, too. How else would they get all their juicy stories?”

“Do they have many scandalous stories on you?”

Tim smirks, and Jason’s dick twitches. His throat feels parched, and he wants something hot against his tongue.

Tim just does that to him, it seems.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, huh?” Tim asks, beautifully coy and devious all over again.

And Jason still doesn’t have a drink. He holds fast to nothing that will offer him any peace to breathe. Instead, his hands are empty, and his mouth is dry.

Still, he likes to think that he’s never been a coward.

 

 

_Always too reckless for his own good. That’s what got him killed._

 

 

So, he straightens himself up to speak with all the bleeding charisma he can manage.

“You gonna finally buy me that drink, then?” Jason asks.

Tim blinks, and Jason belatedly realizes his mistake. Tim has promised him nothing of the like. Jason’s vague memory of it must be a dream.

After all, he’s been dreaming a lot lately. Almost all of them feature Tim. That kinda scares him. Mostly, it endears him.

Tim is nice to dream about.

While Jason continues to ponder over his intrusive thoughts, Tim comes to a conclusion.

“Why not? I don’t mind treating you to something besides overpriced champagne.” Tim waves his hand, and a bartender comes running. Jason wishes he had that kind of power. Then, Tim orders two glasses of Blue Label Johnnie Walker on ice, and Jason cannot stop the laugh that escapes from his needy lips.

“You’ll just get overpriced whiskey instead?” Jason asks.

Tim has the gall to look gorgeous even while feigning affront. “What do you mean? I think Johnnie Walker is very reasonably priced, all things considered.”

“If you say so,” Jason scoffs. The bartender slides their drinks over. A few droplets float out of Jason’s glass, but he doesn’t mind. He can’t — not when Tim smiles at him over the rim of his own glass like that.

Like a beast on the prowl, staring down his next meal. He’s hungry. Jason’s greedy.

And he misses Tim.

The whiskey goes down smooth, as always. It’s the good stuff. It burns his throat something fierce, but it’s familiar. More than that, it emboldens him, and he needs as much of that as he can get.

“You always drink fancy stuff like this?” Jason asks. A man barrels past them. Tim jerks forward as a result. He settles in close now. Jason soaks up his warmth like a man starved.

Tim settles into his new spot without a qualm. “Well, I am a spoiled rich boy. I live off of drinks like this.”

“Must be nice.”

“It could be worse.” Tim takes another long sip. He goes so quick that some of the whiskey pools out of the corner of his mouth, and it takes everything Jason possesses to stop himself from leaning in to lick it up. “So, how have you been these past few days? Did you get the chance to shake off the pretentious stench those galas tend to leave behind?”

“You mean all that perfume and cologne? Yeah, I got it off eventually, but I don’t think my nose has ever been that overwhelmed.”

 

 

_Blood. Blood and dirt. He smells blood, dirt, and the cloy of metal that comes with it. The tang overwhelms him, even if he can’t call it unfamiliar._

_Except the blood flows thicker and stronger than he’s ever known before. It rushes down his throat even without swallowing, and he almost chokes. Like this, he thinks he’d much prefer fresh mud laced with dog shit in his teeth over this. At least there’s noise out there. Here, the silence swathes him._

_It frightens him._

_He wriggles, just a bit. Not a single shred of give greets him. So, he thrashes next. The bindings around him hold him down firm, and he could cry._

_He could, but he doesn’t. In his final moments, the glow of those red numbers only infuriates him._

_Because he’s not coming. He’s not going to save Jason now._

_Jason’s going to die._

_So much for trying._

 

 

“Actually,” Jason hastily amends because leaving his mouth unoccupied is unacceptable right now, “it could’ve been worse. I didn’t mind yours.”

He swallows down whiskey, but it tastes like blood and dirt.

(God, why does that taste so familiar?)

Tim hums absentmindedly. “Oh, thank you. I have to say, you smelled pretty nice, too. Even your dick smelled fresh, which I really appreciated.”

Evidently, whiskey does not feel as smooth going up one’s nostrils as it does slinking down one’s throat.

“Thanks. I try,” Jason says as he chokes half his drink up, taken aback as he is.

Tim flashes him an infuriatingly innocent smile. “I do adore a man who tries.”

At least someone does.

After that, they resort to making simple small talk. Tim mentions a rebellious employee who recently tried to embezzle away millions from the company because his boss upset him by giving a promotion to a colleague. Oh, and Tim just so happens to be that boss — CFO of the company his parents helped to raise from the depths of a plummeting position on the stock market, all at the tender age of twenty-three. Predictably, Tim had plenty of fun with that.

In turn, Jason regales Tim with stories of his own escapades on the job. He weaves a mostly mundane tale of finishing up a case against a notorious pimp who’s escaped persecution far more times than conceivable, but money certainly talks, even in court.

“And let’s not forget that some of those judges are also a big fan of hitting up these guys for some young girl they can boss around. I’m sure they abhor the thought of sentencing one of their favorite _suppliers_ to jail,” Jason hisses because they’re everywhere. Disgusting men lurk in every crevice.

He cannot wait to be rid of them.

Even if he has to do it himself.

Tim’s hand rests on his own now. He’s warm. His touch feels light, but purpose shimmers beneath it. He pushes down. Gently. The insistence urges Jason to see what has Tim staring at him like that.

He stares as if Jason’s gone and done it again. As if they’ve been through this before.

Jason looks down and sees watered-down whiskey trickling out of his glass. Somewhere along the way, he must have cracked the bottom. Slowly, now that Jason’s noticed,  
Tim lifts his hand up.

The trickle grows stronger.

Jason swears he feels another crack, closer now.

“My bad,” Jason murmurs. His fingers turn ever colder from the ice melt. Silently, he wills for Tim’s hand to return. These days, he craves warmth something fierce because, sometimes, his bed feels so inexplicably cold beneath his cheek.

Sometimes, he forgets where he is.

“It’s fine. I bet they get at least one broken glass a night.”

Jason makes no move to set the glass down, so Tim does it for him. With his pretty fingers, Tim unfurls Jason’s grip before quickly downing the rest of the drink and setting the empty glass on the bar countertop. Next, he takes Jason’s liquor-soaked hand into his own so he can wrap his perfect pout over each finger, licking away the leftover, dripping booze.

His mouth runs even hotter than his hand. Without a word, Jason melts into it.

Tim, it stands to reason, is ruining Jason.

“You wanna get out of here so we can avoid getting in trouble for breaking that glass?” Tim asks sweetly.

“Why would you get in trouble? You didn’t do anything wrong. I did.”

Tim’s baby blues glint. Jason spots a promise and a secret intertwined painfully tight within them.

“Come on, I wouldn’t abandon you like that. Besides, I wouldn’t mind a bit of trouble with you.”

It’s settled. Tim is killing him, so effortlessly that Jason can’t even play offended.

“Let’s go, then,” Jason whispers, and they go.

He almost feels like he’s flying beside Tim.

 

* * *

 

 

Tim wastes no time getting himself undressed the very moment they barrel into his penthouse suite, mouths locked and hands roving like hungry beasts. Above them, the decor looms like the picturesque epitome of modern living. Jason hates the way the sleek stainless steel makes him feel.

He’s always preferred reds and glass. Concrete grays rarely appeal to him all that much.

In fact, they kinda disgust him.

Thankfully, he has Tim’s tight, lithe body right there to distract him. His skin shines smooth and clean, devoid of any untoward blemishes or marks. To be expected from a member of the elite, Jason supposes. Overall, Tim looks like some intricately airbrushed high-fashion model. Except, unlike them, Tim’s real.

He stands before Jason, undeniably solid and warm, but Jason can’t escape the thought that there’s something off about the sight in front of him.

Tim strikes an impressive picture like this, all fresh and free of any jarring marks. That much Jason could never deny. Regardless, he can’t help but think Tim would look far better with a few scars ripping here and there over his lovely little figure. Only then would the gisant be complete. They just need the scary man in the black to sign the epitaph. 

(Jason hopes the man in black he adores so much wrote his.)

What a horrible notion. What a wretched, cruel line of thought to pass through Jason’s over-addled mind. He hates himself for it.

But it’s true.

He moves in close to wrap himself around Tim in a desperate bid to distract himself from just how abhorrent he is.

Tim accepts him without a qualm, ignorant at best.

They kiss. Jason lets himself fall into the copious servings of familiar heat Tim gifts him. Clearly, Tim hands away such delights too generously. Still, Jason refuses to deny such kindness.

With marvelous, deft hands, Tim slips off Jason’s leather jacket before sliding them beneath Jason’s shirt. He roams eagerly, dipping the soft pads of his fingers into the hollows of Jason’s abdomen. They move fast and assured. Jason suspects that Tim’s revealed some grand secret with them. But, he writes in a language Jason will never understand.

At least Jason can still read body language, and Tim all but screams desire.

They make quick work of Jason’s pants. Or, Jason does. Tim, on the other hand, revels in going slow and taking his time.

Jason wants out. Tim won’t let him — not yet. He pushes Jason’s hands away just once, but once proves more than enough because Jason cannot deny Tim. So, Tim has free reign to slide Jason jeans down as slowly as he pleases. Of course, that means that the whole process is nothing short of tortuous.

Tim inches them down. Then, he stops. Jason growls and bucks his hips impatiently. Tim laughs in response. As Jason rolls his hips in a different kind of desperate plea, Tim retaliates with another scratch, directly over the old welts.

Jason nearly comes from that alone. What a weak man he has grown to embody.

Finally, Tim takes pity on Jason. With a single, swift flick of his wrist, Jason’s free.

Tim holds power. Jason owns none.

(He never has. Not really.)

Now, though, neither of them possess enough patience to keel their way over to Tim’s bedroom before continuing. Instead, Jason hauls Tim over to his massive couch before flopping down onto his back.

First, he hauls Tim over on top of him. Next, he wonders how he ever got lucky enough to be here.

Tim grinds down hard. Jason stops thinking. Fueled by impatient yearning, Jason bucks up with just as much vigor before leaning up so he can leave behind piercing marks all over Tim’s long, sweet neck. Tim’s resulting groan reverberates harshly through Jason’s wet, open mouth. Jason, greedy as he is, drinks up as much as he can.

He always wanted more than anyone could give.

He quickly slides a hand over to Tim’s ass before realizing where they are. More specifically, he comes to the conclusion that Tim most likely does not keep lube within arm’s reach of his living room couch.

However, Tim surprises him. Again. Perhaps Jason should not be so surprised anymore.

 

 

_Because Tim has always been well-prepared._

 

 

Though, he can’t really help it when Tim reaches back, only to emerge with a small bottle of lube in hand.

Jason must be gaping. That would explain Tim’s triumphant smirk.

“I like to be prepared,” Tim says.

“I know,” Jason replies. His mind shrieks in warning. “I mean, I figured as much. You seem the type.”

Tim grins wider. “I’m flattered.”

Then, he reaches back to open himself up, and Jason cannot decide which of his emotions reigns as most exorbitant: excitement or disappointment?

Ultimately, Jason’s body moves faster than his mind. Before he can reach a conclusion, his hand pulls away Tim’s wrist. Tim lets out a small yelp in question. It quickly turns into a startled catch of breath when Jason manhandles him into one of the positions Jason has been desperately dreaming of.

Tim’s ass hovers over Jason’s face. The lube has gone missing from Tim’s hand, but Jason’s not too concerned about that. He can see it next to him, a short distance away.

Things are going well, for once. And, for once, maybe he’ll dig his fingers into the upper hand.

He pulls Tim even closer. His hands sink into the cushioned give of Tim’s hips, and Jason’s mind swims with need.

He cannot wait any longer.

He leans into the everything warmth in front of him and sinks his tongue into Tim’s ass.

Tim keens, and he shivers. Jason’s time to shine has finally arrived.

He eats Tim out with vigor. It’s what he’s wanted for days and days, and he would be the last to give up such a beautiful opportunity. All the while, Tim wriggles and moans. Jason, for once, is pleased with himself.

Not to mention, he could do this forever. Sadly, Tim doesn’t want forever right now.

Apparently, all he wants is to get fucked.

With little preamble, Tim lifts himself away from Jason’s face. This time, Jason’s the one to leave marks behind as he desperately scrambles to make Tim stay. If nothing else, Jason thinks, they look nice as Tim shimmies away.

“That’s enough,” Tim gusts. He’s out of Jason’s grasp now, but he still hovers delectably close. “You can fuck me now.”

“What? You didn’t enjoy sitting on my face?” Jason coos. “I’m offended.”

“It was great. I’m just rarely satisfied with something like that.”

“I know.”

This time, Jason doesn’t correct himself.

Tim settles with Jason’s acquiescence. He lets Jason pick up the lube from the floor, and he doesn’t squirm in the least as Jason slicks up his fingers.

Upon the press of Jason’s fingers inside him, Tim jolts. But, he doesn’t draw away. On the contrary, he pushes back insistently as the initial shock fades. Jason hears a single, long moan, and he wishes he could be satisfied with just that.

 He never was satisfied with most things.

Neither is Tim.

Jason barely has time to slip in three fingers before Tim begins whining above him again, circling his hips in search for _more_.

“Someone’s impatient,” Jason hums.

“I just know what I want,” Tim replies.

“Do you now?”

Either way, Jason doesn’t have the mind to argue or play coy. As well-prepared as ever, Tim pulls a condom out from behind him like he’s mastered this magic trick long ago, and then Jason’s inside him before he can even revel in the feeling of Tim rolling the condom over his dick with the sweetest drag of his fingers.

And Jason wants as much skin as possible. He wants to drape himself all over Tim. He wants to smother Tim. If he could feel each pulse of Tim’s heartbeat against his own, they still wouldn’t be close enough.

Tim has other ideas, though. After he gets the condom over Jason’s dick all nice and snug, he leans back far, almost completely cutting their contact off, before settling back over so he’s riding Jason with a not-so-slow sink of his hips.

Admittedly, Jason cannot honestly say he hates this. Of course, being inside Tim in general feels like sinking into a lived-in lightness that Jason has not yet actually lived before, but he considers the sight of Tim hovering there, eyeing Jason like a delightful gift its own kind of treat.

Still, he wishes Tim would let himself fall forward just a little bit more.

However, his own wishes and desires matter little at this point because Tim simply goes ahead and does as he pleases. Namely, he fucks himself on Jason’s cock like a beautiful, high-maintenance vixen who’s been kept waiting for far too long. Jason can tell by the way Tim flicks his hair out of his eyes, all haughty and beloved.

Eventually, Jason, too, settles. He allows himself a figment of peace — just enough to convince himself that there might be a slight, conceivable chance that he is allowed to have this. That, maybe, he can hold something this nice without worrying that it’ll slip right through his grubby, bloody fingers.

He’s wrong. He’s always wrong

 

 

_“I didn’t do it.”_

_He slips out of Jason’s grip anyway._

 

 

The revelation strikes them both at the same time. Because of that, neither of them end up being in much of a mood to carry on with this splendid romp of theirs.

That’s fine. Jason would give it all away in a heartbeat just to have Tim look at him like that.

Like he knows Jason. Like he really, truly cares.

Like he’s the Baby Bird replacement to Jason’s tired, old birdsong.

“Jason,” Tim breathes. His voice sweeps over Jason in a terrible rush, and Jason hates to hear him like that. At least he hasn’t bothered to lift himself off Jason’s dick. They could both probably use the grounding. “Jason, what’s going on?”

“I —"

Jason gets nothing more than that. The universe has never been especially gracious to him, and today proves to be of no exception.

Because it only gives him time for a single, innocuous word before the world around them shakes and splinters apart. Jason holds fast onto Tim, but even that melts away into something empty and far away from him.

And Jason falls. He falls, and he is not unused to it. This time, though, he takes Tim with him.

He sees green on the way down. He wonders if Tim does too.

He swallows his hope. Best to save it for another day. The luck of the draw sings someone else’s praises today.

As usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter,,, took me awhile. this story has been challenging so far, but also lots of fun!
> 
> please let me know what you think!
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)


	3. Chapter 3

The green looks tacky. It clashes terribly with the armor fitted tightly on Jason’s shoulders, along with the rust-red insignia emblazoned across the span of his chestplate. All in all, the combination looks bad and just downright _tacky_.

But that’s the way it is. If he doesn’t show off his position as a knight with an obnoxious audacity, then no one would ever look twice at him. He wouldn’t even be here without it.

Probably wouldn’t even be alive.

 

(Maybe it’ll kill him.)

 

_Bruce — not Batman because he stares down at Jason without the cowl on. He meets Jason’s gaze with those terribly blue eyes of his now, and Jason would cower if he could._

_But he can’t. So, he doesn’t._

_So Bruce — not Batman — hands him the suit. It looks just about the same as the previous Robin’s, but it feels different. The weight and texture of it the kevlar feels different. Singular and unique._

_It feels something like his._

_Because Jason is Robin now. Not the illustrious Dick Grayson who still haunts the corners of the mansion and Batcave. Not the first Boy Wonder who was famous and revered for his death-defying acrobatics and flexibility. After all, Jason never could move quite like him, no matter how hard he tried or practiced. He could never get the landing quite right._

_Bruce says it’s because Jason’s bulkier than Dick and leaves it with that — a perfectly reasonable explanation that Jason has no reason to doubt. Still, Jason wonders if maybe he’s just not good enough to be Robin._

_Because he’ll never be Dick Grayson, the original Boy Wonder._

_And sometimes he thinks that’s what Bruce wants._

_Other times, he thinks Bruce is more than happy to have him. Times like these, when Bruce smiles down at him like that — like he means it. Like he’s so fucking glad Jason isn’t Dick because he doesn’t need two Dick Graysons. He just needs a Robin, and Jason, apparently, against all reasonable thought and predilections, is a good enough Robin for him._

_Because Jason has the suit now, solid and sure in his grip. It weighs down his hands something fierce, deceptively heavy despite how thin it appears, but Jason doesn’t mind the weight. In fact, he feels like the heft gives the suit substance. Presence._

_A meaning._

_He admires it for a few more moments before Bruce silently implores Jason to try it on. His touch is encouraging, and he even smiles as he pushes Jason towards one of the small changing stations at the corner of the cave. Jason, of course, cannot deny acting on behalf of such a rare occurrence. So, he scurries off without another word, suit clutched tight against his chest for reassurance._

_To be completely honest, Jason always thought the red and greens of the Robin suit looked tacky. They drew too much attention and didn’t match the vibe of Gotham or even Batman well enough._

_Though, he figures that might be the point. Batman lives and breathes the shadows. In fact, he thrives in them. Needs them. Would never manage to do half the overly-dramatic tricks he does against the baddies if he didn’t have them._

_But even Gotham has a few bright spots, in a way. They need someone like Robin to exist within them. Otherwise, Batman would probably just be another weird pervert skulking in the shadows. Even now, he arguably still is, but at least he’s one of the better ones._

_With that in mind, Jason stares at himself, dressed in those very same reds and greens, and thinks that, perhaps, they don’t look so bad._

_He hopes they suit him._

_He hopes Bruce is proud._

 

Jason mindlessly brushes away invisible dust from his chest. The pomp and circumstance of the ceremony sets his nerves on edge, and he breathes in deep to calm himself. Quite frankly, he cares little for his King. He’s far too young with a nasty temper and terrible amount of pride, but Jason stands watch regardless. He has a job to do.

Not to mention, a few of their esteemed guests from some far-off nations have managed to catch his attention.

He’s not used to this — this kind of rapt fascination with another person. For the most part, he keeps to himself and sincerely hopes everyone else will do the same.

Except, today, Jason simply cannot stop himself from watching the man across the room, gaze unerring and searching for something.

He looks familiar. The smaller, lithe man with the startlingly bright blue eyes looks familiar even though Jason has never met him before. Of that, he’s sure.

 

(Mostly. Probably. He looks like a songbird Jason might have struck once, on accident. Or maybe on purpose. He can’t quite recall right now.)

 

Regardless, he looks on, waiting, caught up in the blues and gentle slope of the other man’s darling cheekbones, and Jason thinks about just how pretty he is.

 

_“What? Something on my face?”_

_Jason blinks, then shakes his head. “No. You’re fine.”_

_“You sure? You’re giving me quite the look over there.”_

_“Just thinking. You really are the pretty bird, aren’t you?”_

_A scoff. “Poison Ivy really got you good today. Take it easy before you embarrass yourself even more.”_

_“I mean it,” Jason insists._

_“Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”_

_Jason sleeps and sees pretty blues behind his eyelids as he fades._

 

He thinks about it, and his eyes burn.

Strange.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, once the crowd settles a bit after the Regent’s expertly political speech, Jason gets the chance to observe this interesting — enticing — man.

The clothes he dons do not match the high-quality, hand-spun silks that most of the other guests wear. In fact, he hardly wears any clothing at all. Instead, he’s dressed in thin, translucent garbs that barely cover half his body. As it stands, his entire midriff stands bare, as does the majority of his back. As a result, even with how slim he looks, Jason can clearly see the rivulets of firm, lean muscle that swath his frame.

If Jason didn’t know better, he’d think this mystery man was an assassin of some kind. Perhaps he is, dolled up just to distract his targets, lower their defenses in a stunning display of deadly virtuousness in the face of others’ lust.

Except, when the older man to his side runs his calloused fingers against an exposed hip to then dip them down even further towards long, lean legs, Jason finds it difficult to shake off the notion that the pretty man with the familiar blue eyes is little more than a highly-favored concubine. The older man accompanying him might very well be an assassin himself, though. He looks to be built tall and firm despite his age, jaw set with the kind of determination that only comes from battle. Not to mention, the eyepatch he bears speaks volumes.

He strokes again. Leans down to whisper something into the young man’s ear. The young man hardly gives any indication of a response, but the older man nonetheless looks vaguely pleased as he draws away.

Jason sees a horrible mixture of red and green at the scene.

But, both thankfully and regrettably, Jason gets little more time to observe them after that. Within minutes, they quickly disappear from his sight, and Jason is left bereft and wanting in his wake.

All the while, the King, young and bratty as he is, stays up through the night alongside everyone else, but he grows testier by the minute — unaccustomed to being kept awake and occupied past his bedtime, probably. Though, to be fair, Jason has never known His Highness Damian to be anything less than insufferable. Of course, the Regent Alfred helps to temper him as he stalks around the room, attempting to cow the older, more experienced guest into something akin to respect.

It almost work. At the very least, High Highness The Brat manages to avoid offending someone into a wild frenzy, and Jason gets to sit back and sneak a few drinks. He hadn’t been nearly as lucky last time, so he opts to make the most of the situation.

Still, he doesn’t quite expect to have his attentions taken by the attractive maybe-concubine with the blue eyes and smooth voice that Jason swears he’s heard before.

“Sir — can you hear me?”

 

_“Hood! Hood, can you hear me?” someone frantically exclaims._

_Honestly, Jason hears him all too well, and his head pounds at the sounds. Someone lightly shakes him, and that just makes it all worse._

_He might actually puke here. Or maybe he’ll just keel over and die like this._

_Then, the hands pull away alarmingly quick — the voice probably realized, belatedly, that shaking an injured man is a bad idea._

_“Jason,” the voice breathes, so sweetly Jason could cry. “Please, answer me.”_

_Jason coughs up what feels like his entire goddamn soul, and something wet and warm comes up with it. “No names on the field. You know that, Baby bird.”_

_“Sorry. I guess I was just a little too preoccupied to remember that.” A rough, Kevlar-covered hand lands gently on Jason’s cheek. “How are you feeling?”_

_“Like shit,” Jason croaks._

_“I bet. But it’ll be fine. We’ll get out of here soon enough, and then you’ll be just fine.”_

_There are many things Jason could say in response to that. A few of them come to mind almost immediately. However, he suspects that none of them will make Baby bird happy. So, he bites his tongue for once and just basks for as long as he can._

 

“Sir?”

Jason blinks. To his side stands that pretty wisp of a thing, staring up at him with thinly-veiled annoyance.

“Sorry,” Jason says haltingly. He feels strange, all of a sudden, looking down at the Pretty Wisp, like his mind’s spinning in a desperate bid to hold onto something fleeting and fierce. “Did you say something?”

Pretty Wisp blinks slowly, unimpressed but diplomatic enough to hide the brunt of it between soft eyes.

“I asked if you could kindly move to the side for a moment. I would greatly appreciate a drink right about now, and I imagine my Lord would too,” Pretty Wisp says.

Jason nods. He presents a reasonable request, and Jason can’t think of any logical reason to not step away, even though something strange niggles at the back of his mind like a determined earwig full of eggs.

Regardless, he moves, and Pretty Wisp moves past him with nary a sound.

 

(He had always been one of the quieter ones. In terms of stealth and all that detective nonsense Jason never quite got into, Baby bird had always been one of the better ones. That used to infuriate Jason until it started to impress him.

Then, it endeared him.)

 

“Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” Jason blurts out suddenly.

Pretty Wisp stares in silence for a few seconds before responding. “Timothy, but Tim is fine.”

“Tim.” Jason cradles the name in his mouth before swallowing it down whole. It tastes like a tentative home, but it settles down nice and cozy in the pit of his stomach. “I’m Jason.”

“The Arkham Knight, yes?”

“Yeah,” Jason says because it’s true; it’s the truth, even if it sounds a bit strange because maybe, once in another life, he had been a different sort of Arkham Knight who wanted more for himself than to babysit a brat King and all that he stood for.

In another life, he knew Tim.

He swallows down hard. This time, the taste left behind isn’t nearly as comforting, and Jason just about gags as it slinks its way down his throat. It feels ashy and acrid, swirling down like smoke before settling into a horrible blaze.

His eyes burn again, hot and unbearable. He blinks rapidly, trying his best to stop the red-hot encroach of something salty and wet, but, God, it’s hard.

“Are you alright?” Tim asks. He holds two glasses, one in each hand. Slowly, shifts them both into one hand in a bid to help Jason through whatever strange, unwarranted emotional breakdown has just washed over him. “Did you eat something off? I keep telling you to take better care of yourself. How hard is it to check the expiration date on your food before you eat a whole box of it?” He shuffles around to thump harshly at the center of Jason’s back. “And you always say that _I’m_ bad when it comes to eating healthy.”

“You are,” Jason insists past the scraping burn searing its way up his throat. “I know toddlers with a better grasp over nutrition than you. Those daily multivitamins aren’t some miracle cure, you know. You still gotta eat real food.”

“I do.”

“Chips and sugary cereal does not count as real food,” Jason counters. “Doesn’t Alfred always send you nice, frozen home cooked meals anyway? I don’t know how you manage to make reheating stuff so fucking hard.”

“It’s my special ability.”

Jason opens his mouth with a sharp inhale. He still has several other choice words to say, after all. Tim, the brilliant little baby bird he is, tends to win arguments like this the majority of the time with all his expertly-curated logic and reason. Except, this time, Jason knows he has the upper hand — AKA some goddamn sense.

Except Jason doesn’t actually know Tim. He shouldn’t. They’ve only just met, after all. A concerning level of intense fascination for an attractive face — and body — does not make one a somebody Jason used to know. Or still knows. Furthermore, he doubts Alfred has ever gone through the trouble of sending some foreign almost-dignitary any meals. He’s way too busy for such trivial things.

But, even with all that in mind, Jason definitely knows Tim Drake. He suspects Tim knows him, too, based on the horrified look that overtakes his face.

Tim hastily sets the glasses down. They clatter violently as they hit the table, and a few people glance their way, both questioning and irritated. Luckily, Slade doesn’t appear to be among them. Even in this fucked-up alternate timeline they’ve apparently found themselves in, Jason’s sure he’d be trouble if angered.

And what could possibly anger him more than seeing his beloved probably-concubine reminiscing with his alternate timeline fling? It’s a strange thought, but, somehow, it makes sense.

“Let’s — Let’s get out of here,” Jason suggests in a frantic whisper.

“And go where?” Tim argues. “We have no idea where we are. Or, I guess we do, but I think we can both agree that this is not the same Arkham that we know and love oh-so much.”

Jason comes to the infuriating conclusion that he must concede the point to Tim. That doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it because another loss is another fucking loss, but he takes it with as much grace as he can manage.

Which is to say, he snarls underneath his breath as he nonetheless hauls Tim away by his slim wrist before Slade or anyone else can stop them.

Jason doesn’t know these castle halls, but he does; each turn strikes him as startlingly unfamiliar, but his feet move with assurance until they reach a secluded room full of impressive mahogany furniture.

The same kind Bruce likes. That makes it all even worse, somehow.

“So, what the _fuck_ is going on?” Jason demands once he has the door securely locked. His voice echoes in the room — just like it does in the goddamn cave sometimes — and that really makes it worse.

Tim also looks more than a bit frazzled and worn at their current situation. Even his skimpy outfit and the touch of makeup that Jason finally spots under the harsh lights here can’t soften his frustration.

“You really think I know?”

“You’re the genius Boy Wonder, aren’t you?”

Tim bares his teeth angrily. Jason just barely stops himself from getting turned on at the sight; now is certainly not the time for it. “Oh yeah, and that just means that I should already have everything figured out all by myself, huh? You’re not even going to pretend to help me?”

Jason runs his shaking hand through his hair with a sigh. Tim continues to glare up at him, but, even so, he’s so stunning it’s unfair.

“Sorry. I’m just — confused,” Jason says lamely.

Finally, Tim softens a bit around the edges. “I know. Me too. It’s weird, suddenly remembering your real life while this false one still lingers in the back of your mind.”

Carefully, like an unsupervised child roaming the streets of Gotham for the barest chance of finally getting something decent to eat, Jason steps forward. Tim doesn’t move to meet him, but he doesn’t draw away, either.

So, Jason grows bold. He tears his gloves off, bridges the gap between them, all to rest a still-calloused hand on Tim’s face.

 

(No Kevlar this time. Just flesh on flesh, whole and intact this time. Neither of them bleeds, and neither of them weep. For now, their moment is peaceful. As peaceful as it gets, anyway.

 

And Tim feels like a songbird in the breeze, hollow bones and all.

Baby bird.

_Tim._

“What do you think might’ve happened to get us here in the first place?” Jason asks, gentler and more patient this time. He smooths his palm against Tim’s cheek. In response, Tim leans in, and this might possibly be one of the sweetest moments they have ever shared.

Except it’s not even theirs. Not really, at any rate. Not when they exist within false, borrowed lives.

 

(Jason wonders if Bruce is looking for them right now. With Tim, Damian, and Alfred here with him, he surely must be raving with sick desperation at the loss.

And perhaps he thinks of Jason, too.)

 

Tim shakes his head lightly to avoid dislodging Jason’s hand. “I don’t know. I would guess some kind of magic, but aliens might’ve done it for all I know.” He shrugs. “Sorry I’m not much help this time around. I haven’t gotten the chance to do much investigating since we came to the realization a few minutes ago.”

He sounds both sarcastic and terribly sincere, as if he genuinely believes that he’s disappointed Jason by not pulling all the answers out of his ass within seconds of realizing the problem.

Jason hates that — hates that being Robin did this to Tim. He despises it with a depth he hadn’t expected, and he definitely doesn’t expect to find himself moving behind his own volition to pull Tim towards him into a kiss.

Tim meets him with nothing, at first. It lasts a moment, and Jason tells himself he’ll stop and apologize if the stillness goes on for another. Then, Tim’s lips move against his own, and they kiss with the kind of uncoordinated passion that only teenagers know.

Well, teenagers and grown men stuck playing pretend in a mystical and foreign land known as Arkham, apparently.

Regardless, they kiss for some time. Jason swipes his tongue against Tim’s mouth before moving within. It feels familiar, kissing Tim like this. Even the warmth Tim emanates or familiar, even as the stupid, hazy part of his minds riots at the thought.

Tim meets him every step of the way with fingers intertwined in Jason’s hair until, slowly, they pull away, driven by the thought that now might not be the best time for this.

But, God, did Jason need it.

“That was… something,” Tim breathes as they pull apart. His flushed face looks especially red against the light blue silks that _Sl_ ade _Wilson_  of all people presumably dressed him in.

Slade. Deathstroke. Acting as Tim’s Lord. Jason doesn’t even know what that means, exactly, but he has to know.

So he asks.

“You… What is it that you do with Slade in this world?”

Tim blinks. His face smooths into something uncharacteristically open and vulnerable. So much so even Jason rattles with it.

Tim hadn’t even looked this taken aback when Jason went ahead and tried to kill him all those years ago.

 

(Not even that long ago. It hasn’t even been that long since Jason nearly killed Tim, leaving him to bleed out even though he has just been a kid.

But, if you think about it, Jason had just been a kid too. At least, he had died a kid and coming back as an adult didn’t really change much about that.

Except, no one seemed to care.)

 

Then, Tim’s expression morphs into a halting screech of absolute disgust seasoned with a pinch of denial.

“I don’t know if that matters right now,” Tim says. He keeps his voice as smooth as possible past the clench of his jaw, but the tremble tumbling through his words shines through regardless. “I think we should be more concerned about how to get out of here instead.”

“Answer the question.”

Tim frowns. “Jason, we can’t afford to waste time — “

“ _Please_.”

Tim thins his lips, and his eyes shudder. Then, he attempts to wait Jason out in a poor man’s battle of attrition. Silence encroaches, slow and steady like the monsters in the night Jason used to believe in, but he stands firm in his conviction regardless. Because he has to know. His own fabricated memories and experiences are tedious and a touch offensive — mostly because Damian of all people resides as his king here — but, overall, harmless enough.

He cannot say the same for Tim, if his suspicions are correct. And, if his suspicions are correct, Jason might very well tear this place apart with nothing more than his bare hands and the sound of his blood, running harsh and hot past his ears.

Because Tim has always been too good. Too good for Robin, too good for Bruce, too good for all the things Jason once did to him, and certainly too good for this.

Finally, Tim caves. He must realize that Jason will not fold here; even if this alternate reality of theirs falls apart on them, rendering them obsolete and lost forever, he will not let this lay. He can’t.

“I — I’m Slade’s… personal attendant,” Tim says tentatively.

“You mean you’re his concubine,” Jason amends flatly. “Some sicko planted us here, and now you have to fuck Slade whenever he wants as his ‘personal attendant.’”

Eyes averted, Tim stays rooted and silent. He gives no verbal or physical indication of having even heard Jason, but he doesn’t need to.

And Jason nearly kill someone.

“I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Jason hisses, barreling through the room like a bull seeing things in the wind, goaded on by the mocking flutter. Except, he has no one he can conveniently maul. “I’m gonna kill whoever did this to us. To you.”

“We have to figure out what happened to us first,” Tim cuts in. He has his brave face plastered on tight, and, if Jason were a fucking idiot like Bruce or Dick — forever eager to pretend like everything’s perfectly fine when it’s clearly not because someone has cast Tim into the part of Slade’s personal sex slave when he could be anything else — he might even believe it.

But Jason’s not like them. So, he rages on like the uncultured beast he’s become.

He rages until Tim rudely elbows him right in the solar plexus. Then, he’s too busy gasping for air to maintain his righteous anger for much longer.

“Pull yourself together,” Tim hisses, leaning down to meet Jason where he’s now bent over, clutching his abdomen. “If you really want to help me get out of being Slade’s little lover boy, then I need you to calm down so you can actually be useful.”

Jason snarls in response. Mostly because he knows Tim’s right, and part of him hates that.

 

(He’d always been so desperate to be the best — the best Robin Batman had ever seen because otherwise he might finally come to realize what a horrible mistake he had made, picking Jason up in the first place. After all, Jason’s own mom sometimes told him he was nothing but a horrible mistake, when the mood and the high struck here. Why wouldn’t Batman feel the same?)

 

“Don’t look at me like that. We should start moving, and soon. Not standing around here, seething about how unfair my fake life is.”

“Alright, alright, I heard you,” Jason huffs. The throbbing beneath his chest has finally begun to subside, and he can almost think clearly past the lingering pain and effervescent fury that continues to ail him. It’s still difficult with Tim standing there, looking downright gorgeous and decorated like the living status symbol he undoubtedly is here, but he manages.

He manages because, otherwise, Tim would very likely throw a fit, and they can’t both be seething, or else they won’t stand a chance of getting out of here.

So, for once, Jason acquiesces. Tim looks mighty pleased with that, and he looks even better pleased than upset.

“How should we go about this, then?” Jason asks.

“I’m not sure,” Tim admits. “I don’t have any idea what’s going on, to be honest. Damian and Alfred don’t show any signs of awareness?”

“Of course not. If they did, do you think Alfred would let Damian run around as the young King?”

“Good point,” Tim hums. “Slade also hasn’t shown any hints of knowing about his real life, so I doubt he’s actually in on it. You know he’s never been the best actor.”

“That’s true. So you don’t think it’s any of them?”

Tim gives Jason a flat look. “Look, I know Damian hates me and everything, but do you really think someone as ornery as him could possibly sweet-talk someone into helping him come up with this whole charade? It’s not like he could orchestrate this whole thing himself.”

“You got a point.”

“Of course I do.”

Tim rises up slowly, apparently satisfied by Jason’s improved mood. Of course, Jason himself is not anywhere near ‘satisfied’ or even halfway ‘content’, but he lets the matter lay because Tim is infuriatingly right; they have more pressing matters to attend to, or else heads really will roll.

“Even the best magic tends to waver when it’s stretched thin,” Tim says. “And I’m sure something as large-scale as this uses up a ton of it.”

“So you think this is all because of magic then?”

Tim shrugs. “Well, I don’t have many other guesses right now.”

“Good enough.”

Tim turns heel, already raring to go and sort this whole thing out. Jason doesn’t blame him. He also wants nothing more than to get the both of them out of here so images of Tim cramped into a harem house for Slade’s pleasure, slim legs and delicious hips and all, stop inundating each and every lingering crevice of his mind.

And yet, he can’t stop himself from stopping Tim in the doorway for one more kiss.

“Someone’s feeling needy today,” Tim hums softly.

“I just don’t want to forget,” Jason whispers. The admission is unexpectedly honest of him, but he can’t help but say it.

A plethora of emotions streak across Tim’s face in response. He’s taken aback. Jason has rendered him utterly speechless. It feels inconceivable and sounds ridiculous when Jason rolls the notion around in his mouth, but the brief flicker or shock and graceless affection that passes through Tim’s eyes is real.

And then they are gone.

“We won’t. We’ll get to the bottom of this, and then we’re going home,” Tim declares.

Jason nods, and he almost believes in it.

But he sees a green in the corner of his eyes he simply cannot blink away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, we're back lol
> 
> as always, please tell me what you think!! this story is kinda a doozy for me but fun! hehe
> 
> if you want to talk to me or want to know more about how you can support me or request a piece of writing, you can find me on [tumblr](https://highfalutinbabybirb.tumblr.com) and on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/highfalutinBaby)! i'm always happy to talk about whatever :)


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